


The Grass is a Double Menace

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-31 23:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13986078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: The third and final of the massage fics. :)





	The Grass is a Double Menace

“Watch the ice, there,” Benson said, gesturing with her coffee. “Here, let’s cut across.”

Barba eyed the icy sidewalk as they turned onto the snowy grass, and said, “Someone’s going to break their back and sue the city.”

She bumped her arm against his, smiling at him, and said, “Let me guess, you want the case?”

Barba made a face. “No challenge,” he said. “That sidewalk is clearly a menace to the public, even Carisi could win that case.”

She laughed, because she knew that Barba’s digs at Carisi were good-natured. He never would’ve let Carisi shadow him, and work so closely with him, if he hadn’t liked and respected the detective. She sipped her coffee and, a moment later, Barba sipped his. They walked slowly, neither overly anxious to get to their office.

“Oh,” she said after a minute, turning partway toward him. “I forgot to tell you—”

Her foot slipped on the slick, slushy grass, and he stopped, grabbing her elbow to steady her. For a moment, they stood frozen, neither moving. “Got it?” he asked, his grip firm at her elbow. “Are you good?”

“Yeah, I—” Before she could finish, her other foot slid out from under her. She grabbed at his arm, instinctively, popping the lid off her coffee cup and dousing his sleeve with steaming latte.

Cursing, he managed to keep her up for a few seconds, and then his feet went out from beneath him and they both hit the ground with nearly-matching grunts of pain and surprise. His own coffee splattered the front of his coat. He swore again, sitting up with a wince.

“Are you alright?” he asked, helping her sit up.

“Oh my God,” she said, laughing. She pushed her hair from her face with a wet, snowy glove and looked at him. He frowned down at the front of his coat and tossed his empty cup to the ground with an annoyed flick of his wrist. “Are _you_ alright?” she asked.

His frown darkened into a scowl and he cast her a sidelong look. “It’s not funny,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said, but the apology was punctuated with another laugh. “Really.” She reached across herself and put her hand on his sleeve. “Are you hurt?”

“Are you folks okay?” a man asked, jogging across the grass toward them. Benson glanced around and saw that they’d drawn quite a few looks. Another laugh bubbled up in her throat but she managed to choke it back. “Anything broken?” the man asked, his eyes landing on Barba.

Her laughter escaped her lips, after all. “Don’t let the gray hair fool you, he’s not—”

“Thank you, I’m fine,” Barba snapped, shaking snow from one gloved hand and glaring at the Good Samaritan. The other man was undaunted, and reached down a hand to help Benson to her feet. She stood with a wince, brushing the wet snow from her backside, and looked down at Barba.

The man reached down a hand to help him, but Barba waved it away and rolled onto his knee, pushing himself to his feet. He looked down at his coat in disgust.

“At least your suit was mostly spared,” she said. His coat was long enough that his pants shouldn’t be too wet, except for his knee.

He shot her an unamused look. “How lucky,” he said. He rolled his shoulders with a grimace.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

He reached into his coat to pull out his phone. “I’m fine. I’m calling a car.”

“I guess the grass was actually the menace, huh?” she asked.

He snorted, frowning at his phone. “Walking with you, apparently,” he muttered. She laughed and patted him on the shoulder. After a moment, his lips quirked into a smile.

 

*       *       *

 

“Come on, Mr. Crankypants, let’s go.”

Barba glared at her. “What are you doing here?” he asked. They were standing outside the courtroom, where his last case of the day had just been adjourned.

“Well, I _was_ watching you hobble around the courtroom scowling at the jury—”

“I don’t _hobble_.”

“But now, I’m taking you somewhere to make you feel better.” He arched an eyebrow at her, and she tipped her head, giving him a dirty look. She didn’t comment on his sudden smirk, and instead continued: “And don’t try telling me you’re busy, because I already checked your schedule with Carmen.”

“Why don’t you just push me down the stairs and get it over with,” he said, but there was still a smile playing at his lips.

“Don’t tempt me,” she answered. “Let’s go. If you promise to be pleasant, I’ll let you sit up front.”

He fell into step beside her as they headed down the hallway, casting her a sideways look. “Now who’s hobbling?” he asked.

“The ground’s not as close as it used to be,” she said, and she was rewarded by his soft chuckle. “I’m sorry I pulled you down. And about your coat.”

“Oh, hell, it wasn’t your fault,” he said as they walked. He glanced at her. “Did you really call me _Mr. Crankypants_?”

“Are you saying the shoe doesn’t fit?”

“It’s Counsellor Crankypants,” he muttered, and she laughed, taking his arm in hers.

 

*       *       *

 

“You did what?” he asked, staring at her in apparent horror.

“I booked you a massage, and don’t give me that look. It’ll help.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Benson, but it’ll be a few more minutes before the couple’s room is ready,” the receptionist said. She looked up and saw both Barba and Benson staring at her, and she seemed surprised by their expressions.

“Couple’s room?” Benson asked. “No, I didn’t schedule that.”

The receptionist frowned, peering at her computer. “You booked massages for yourself and Mr. Barba?”

“No. Yes, massages for each of us, at the same time.”

“Right…?”

Benson closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath. “I mean, at the same time, separately. Same time, different rooms,” she clarified.

“I’m very sorry, there must’ve been some misunderstanding,” the receptionist answered, quickly typing something into her computer. “And…I’m afraid the couple’s massage is all we have available. Unless you want to reschedule for another day?”

“Or we’ll just cancel,” Barba said.

“No, we won’t,” Benson said, glancing at him. “Are you sure there isn’t any way—”

“I’m very sorry,” the other woman repeated.

“Fine, we’ll take the room,” Benson said.

Barba looked at her. “Excuse me?” he asked. “We will?”

“You need a massage, and there’s no reason to make it weird,” she told him. “Couple’s massage is just an expression, people do it with friends or even mothers and daughters, whatever. Right?” she asked the receptionist.

“Oh, definitely,” the woman agreed. “Okay, great, so you’ll be heading back momentarily. Now, you requested a female masseuse for Mr. Barba, is that still correct or would you like to change that?”

Barba turned to face Benson, putting his elbow on the counter. For some reason Benson couldn’t quite define, she felt her face heating. She looked at him, forced herself to meet his gaze, and said, “I thought you’d be more comfortable that way. You can change it if you prefer.”

Their eyes held, and she felt a flutter in her stomach. He seemed to be at a loss for words—a rare occurrence. His discomfiture would be amusing, if she weren’t so uncharacteristically embarrassed, herself.

The receptionist clearly didn’t want to interrupt their silent eye contact, so she offered a subtle little cough and then waited, looking up at them expectantly.

Benson sighed and put a hand on Barba’s arm. “Come on, Rafa, I feel bad, alright? You’re sore, I’m sore, this’ll be good for both of us. I promise not to peek,” she added, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He laughed—a sound filled more with exasperation than humor, but there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. He dipped his chin and raised his eyebrows. “Fine,” he said. “On one condition.”

Her stomach squirmed—not unpleasantly—at the intensity in his green eyes, and she waited for his condition.

Before he could voice it, however, the receptionist cleared her throat again and said, “I’m sorry, is that a go-ahead for the masseuse?”

Barba glanced at her, a frown dipping between his brows. “I don’t care, whatever,” he said.

“Okay, great, and Ms. Benson, you’ve requested—”

“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter,” Benson cut in, the heat in her cheeks suddenly doubling beneath Barba’s speculative gaze.

The woman paused, and repeated, “Okay, great. The room’s ready for you now, I’ll show you back.”

Barba was still looking at Benson. “Did you request a male—” he started, with a break of humor in his voice.

She tipped her head toward him and said, in a hushed voice, “Look, it’s been a long time, alright?”

He threw his head back and laughed, and Benson found herself grinning in spite of the blush burning in her cheeks.

 

*       *       *

 

“You can put your clothes and belongings in these two rooms,” the receptionist said. “There are bathrobes if you need. Then go ahead and lie facedown on the tables, under the sheets.”

“Thank you,” Benson said, as Barba eyed the side-by-side massage tables.

“You can leave your underwear on or not, whichever you—”

“Okay,” Benson said, blushing furiously as Barba looked at the receptionist. Benson could see the heat staining his cheeks, now, too, and his embarrassment made her feel better about her own. “Thanks, we’ve got it.”

The receptionist cast a quick look between them, her lips twitching in amusement. She nodded. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said, before ducking out of the room.

“This is ridiculous,” Benson said when she and Barba were alone.

“You’re blushing,” Barba told her.

She looked at his smile, and said, “ _You’re_ blushing.” When he chuckled, she added, “Look, go put your bathrobe on. Leave your boxers on if you want…” He arched an eyebrow and she cleared her throat. “Or…whatever you have on under…” She trailed off, and turned toward the changing room, her face flaming.

“This is a side of you I’ve never seen, Liv,” he said, his low voice sending a shiver through her.

“If you’re not careful you might see a lot of things you’ve never seen,” she muttered as she stepped into the room, and she heard his quiet laughter behind her.

 

*       *       *

 

“This is ridiculous,” she repeated. “They’re going to be here any second. I’m not going to look, for crying out loud.”

“ _I’m_ not going to look!” he returned, sounding affronted.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “Just—You turn that way, I’ll turn this way, neither of us will look, take the robes off and get under the sheets. It’s not that complicated.”

He chewed his lip for a moment. She saw his gaze start to flick downward, toward her white bathrobe, but he quickly looked away and turned his back to her. “Right, not that complicated,” he agreed.

She glanced at the back of his robe, silently cursing herself as she also turned. She put her hands on the belt and hesitated. Behind her, she heard him swear softly—followed by the distinct sounds of him quickly stripping off and shucking aside his robe. She started to open her robe and hesitated again. She heard his table creak a little as he climbed on, heard the rustle of his sheet as he covered himself.

She realized that by hesitating, she’d made it far worse for herself. Now, he was lying on the table, and she still had to strip and climb under her sheet just a couple of feet away from him. Her heart was thudding in her chest. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous—and she was afraid to examine the feeling too closely. She only knew that the emotion was unfamiliar, and it had nothing to do with the fact that two complete strangers were about to walk into the room while she was naked under nothing but a sheet.

“Olivia,” Barba said. “Your lack of trust is insulting.” She could tell that he was amused, though, rather than offended.

“Me having trust issues?” she asked, and he laughed at the sarcasm in her voice. She took a breath and pulled open the robe.

There was a light knock on the door. Before she could manage a word, Barba called, “Just a minute!” Then, quieter, laughing, he said, “Hurry the hell up, Benson.”

She laughed, too—she couldn’t help it, the whole situation was so ridiculous. She stripped off the robe, tossed it over the chair, and quickly climbed under the sheet, wincing as each muscle in her back, thighs, and shoulders protested. She let out a small breath of relief when she was covered, but her stomach was still squirming nervously.

“Good?” Barba asked, and she turned her head to look at him. She could see the back of his head, his dark hair peppered with gray, and his bare shoulders and arms. She glanced back at his bare calves and feet and swallowed.

“Okay,” she called, and the door opened. Barba turned his head on his arms to look at Benson, and their eyes met. She was afraid that the sheet wasn’t tucked tightly under her arm, but she was also afraid to check and draw his attention. She saw him swallow, but he kept his eyes on her face. She was both relieved and disappointed.

“Mr. Barba, Ms. Benson, is that correct?” the young woman asked, stopping next to Barba’s ankles. “My name’s Chrissy, this is Seth,” she said, nodding toward the man on Benson’s other side. Benson saw Barba look up at Seth, but she didn’t turn her head. She thought it might be less embarrassing if she didn’t see him. “Are there any injuries we should be aware of? Anything that’s brought you to us today?”

“Yeah, she threw me down in the park,” Barba said.

“Ah, yes,” Chrissy answered. “I imagine that was cold and wet, that’s not good for the joints, either. So you have some muscle stiffness, then? What areas are troubling you?”

Benson laughed at the frown on Barba’s face. Chrissy was so soft-spoken and matter-of-fact that Barba was clearly nonplussed. “The…back area,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the masseuse.

“And you, Ms. Benson?” Seth asked.

“Back, thighs…butt…” she said, her cheeks burning.

Barba turned his face into the table, between his arms, and laughed. “Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking. “Same.”

She laughed, too, and turned her face down to keep the massage therapists from seeing her flaming face.

“Sure,” Chrissy said, calmly, and Benson bit her lower lip to keep the threatening hysterics at bay. “We’ll have you feeling better in no time. Are there any areas on your front—”

“No,” Barba cut in quickly, and Benson closed her eyes, laughing in spite of herself.

“How about you, Ms.—”

“Nope,” she said. “Back only, thanks.”

“Okay,” Chrissy said. “I’m going to be folding the sheet back.” As she told Barba what she was doing, Seth was doing the same with Benson’s sheet. “Do you prefer to have each step laid out? Or do you prefer without talking?”

“Without talking,” Barba and Benson said in unison.

“Very good,” Chrissy said, calmly, and Benson heard Barba’s exasperated chuff of laughter. Then she felt Seth’s lotioned hands at her shoulders, and she closed her eyes again. She let out a breath, trying to let her body relax. Seth’s hands were warm, and firm, as they kneaded her tensed muscles, and Benson found herself wondering if Chrissy was doing the same thing to Barba. She wanted to peek over, but resisted the urge.

As Seth massaged her upper back, Benson could feel herself—finally—beginning to relax. She kept her arms up by her head, because she felt more comfortable that way. She chanced a quick glance at Barba, keeping her eyes strictly above his shoulders, and saw that he’d moved his arms so they were straight by his sides. She put her face down again.

Seth was massaging her lower back, and she let out a breath as he worked his fingers into her sore muscles.

She heard Barba’s soft grunt, and her lower belly tightened unexpectedly in response. Her eyes opened, and she stared through the table at the floor, alarmed by the flush of desire spreading through her. The sensation was not unpleasant, but it was unwelcome. She had no business thinking of Barba while Seth was massaging lotion into her lower back and hips.

She closed her eyes again and forced herself to focus on her own massage.

But she could hear Barba’s breathing; it seemed to be all she could hear. She thought she could smell his cologne but knew it must be a trick of her imagination. With her eyes closed, it seemed almost as if they were the only two people in the room, and the hands rubbing her lower back—

She tried to push the thought away, but it had already taken hold. Barba’s fingers, warm, strong, confident, working against her sore muscles, rubbing the lotion into her skin. She felt the sheet being folded up her legs to reveal her upper thighs, and she swallowed, barely able to breathe as those fingers—she tried to remind herself that they weren’t _his_ fingers, but her brain refused to cooperate—prodded at the knotted muscles of her thighs.

Barba made a sound—Chrissy must’ve found a particularly sore spot, and Benson’s traitorous mind wondered if it was on his back, or his thighs…or in between the two, and she resisted the urge to squirm as Seth’s hands massaged the backs of her legs to the edge of the sheet.

“You have some bruising,” Chrissy remarked in her soft, matter-of-fact voice.

“Hmm,” Barba answered, the sound noncommittal.

“Sorry,” Benson heard herself say, wincing at the thought of him being bruised and hurt.

“I told you it wasn’t your fault,” he said, quietly.

“Well, I’m still sorry I pulled you down,” she answered.

“I’m sorry I didn’t keep you up,” he said, surprising her. After a moment, against her better judgement, she lifted her head and turned her face toward him, resting her cheek on her wrist. He was uncovered all the way to the dip of his lower back, and from his upper thighs, down. Chrissy was massaging his hip, which was apparently where he was bruised.

Seeming to sense her eyes on him, Barba turned his head toward her. He bent his arm so that his elbow was hanging over the side of the table and his hand was bracing the edge of his jaw. Their gazes locked and held, and she couldn’t breathe. There was no denying the desire raging through her, and she knew he could probably see it.

Even though she was looking at him, and knew that he was lying on the next table, her brain insisted that they were _his_ fingers on her thighs, _his_ hands moving under the sheet to massage the tender muscles there. She found herself wanting to shift on the table, wanting his fingers to drift—

 _SETH’S fingers_ , she thought, horrified by the train of her thoughts. S _TOP IT_.

Barba’s gaze flicked toward the side of her breast, the slight swell barely visible beneath her arm, and he immediately closed his eyes, frowning as he drew in a breath through his nose. She couldn’t blame him; she was having trouble governing her own eyes, let alone her thoughts.

She was wondering if he was growing aroused under his sheet, and she hated herself for the thought. It was inappropriate, and grossly unfair to Barba. She was supposed to be his friend, and thinking about such things was inexcusable.

Except…when his eyes opened, and once more found hers, she knew by the intensity burning in his green gaze that she wasn’t alone in her inappropriate musings. The heat in his eyes did nothing to relieve the ache of desire that had settled between her legs, and she pressed her lips together. If she survived this massage, it would be a miracle.

Barba’s lips curved into a wry smile, and she could do nothing but smile in return. She found herself wishing desperately that they were alone, but knew she probably wouldn’t be able to voice the thoughts in her head if they were. She supposed she didn’t have to say them aloud; he knew what she was thinking, what she was feeling. She could see it in the softness of his expression.

She closed her eyes, focusing on Seth’s hands—and controlling her body’s reaction to his touch. She concentrated on the sounds of Barba’s breathing, and matched her breaths to his. It was soothing, and she relaxed into the table, determined to release the tension from her muscles.

She had no idea how long she’d been on the table when Seth finally drew back and tugged the sheet over her back and thighs. She opened her eyes and found Barba watching her, and she looked up at Chrissy. She still didn’t want to see Seth.

Chrissy smiled at her. “Are you feeling better?” she asked.

“Yes…uh…thanks,” Benson answered, feeling like an idiot.

“And you, Mr. Barba?” Chrissy asked.

Barba cleared his throat. “Yes. Thank you,” he said. He was still looking at Benson, and she could see the amusement in his eyes.

“Very good. We’ll leave you to get dressed, just call if you need anything else. Have a nice day.”

“You, too,” Benson said, but as soon as Seth and Chrissy were out of the room, she turned her face into her arm and laughed. Beside her, Barba chuckled, the sound a deep rumble in his chest.

“I’m…going to lie here for a minute…or two,” Barba said, and she could hear the laughter in his voice. “So…if you want to go ahead…” He trailed off as she giggled— _giggled!_ She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done such a thing—against her arm.

Peeking at him over her arm, she asked, “So, on a scale of one to ten, how bad an idea was this?”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t say _bad_ so much as…”

“Surprising?”

“Interesting,” he said, regarding her.

“Do you want me to just…leave you alone…”

His smile was sheepish, now, and he said, “To be honest, you lying there isn’t helping.”

She felt a rush of pleasure at the words, and the way he was looking at her. “Chrissy seemed to be good at her job,” she murmured against her arm, watching him.

“Hmm. And Seth? He seemed to have…sure hands…”

“I thought you weren’t looking.”

“I thought _you_ weren’t looking.”

She said, “We have to get up and get out of here before they come looking for us.”

“I’ll be right behind you…”

“Sure hands,” she suddenly blurted, giggling again, and suddenly they were both laughing—laughing until they had tears streaming from their eyes and they could barely breathe, and they were holding onto their tables to steady themselves. “Sure…Oh my God,” she wheezed. “I didn’t…even… _look at him_ ,” she said, overcome by another fit of laughter.

“What?”

“ _I have no idea what he looks like_ ,” she said, as they both continued to laugh. “I wouldn’t know him if I passed him on the street and he just had his hands on my ass…”

He turned his face into his arm, his body shaking with his laughter, and she swiped at the tears on her cheeks.

“Oh my…Okay,” she said, trying to get control of herself. “Barba. We have to get out of here before they charge me for another hour or something.”

He drew a shaky breath. “Okay,” he agreed. “Okay,” he repeated, a little calmer. “Go. I swear I won’t look.” He turned his head away from her.

“Barba.”

“I swear. Honest. I just need a minute, you go and I’ll be right after you.”

“Fine,” she said. She hesitated. She trusted him and his intentions, but knew from experience that they couldn’t always control their eyes.

As though reading her mind, he said, “If they even _try_ to look, I’ll gouge them out of my head, I promise.”

She laughed and, gathering her resolve, turned away from him and slid from the table. She considered wrapping the sheet around herself but instead made a quick grab for the robe, throwing it on and cinching it closed. She made her way toward her changing room and hesitated at the door.

“Tell me when you’re in,” he said, and she glanced back to see him lying with his arm over his face.

She went into her room and closed the door before saying, “Okay.”

She heard him getting off the table, heard the soft padding of his feet as he made his way into the room beside hers, heard the rustle of silk as he dressed himself. She made as little noise as possible while putting on her own clothes, and tried to convince herself it wasn’t because she wanted to hear him.

“Hey, Liv,” he said through the wall as she was putting on her shoes.

“Yeah?”

“How late do you have a sitter?”

She felt a now-familiar flutter in her stomach. “I could ask her to stay a while longer,” she said. The silence stretched for what felt like a long time, and she wondered if she should say something else—something to encourage him, maybe.

She heard his door open, and she glanced at herself in the mirror to make sure she hadn’t put anything on inside out or backwards. She looked presentable, so she stepped out of the room and looked at him. He was wearing his pants and shirt, and had his blazer hung over his arm. His tie was poking out of his pants pocket.

She realized her eyes had drifted down, and she forced them back to his face. He smirked at her. “I need a drink,” she said.

His smirk spread into a grin. “My condition was dinner,” he said. She’d completely forgotten his words from earlier: _Fine. On one condition._ “But yeah, I could use a drink.” He hesitated. “And maybe a cigarette,” he added.

She frowned. “You don’t smoke anymore,” she said.

“No,” he agreed. He regarded her, the corners of his eyes crinkling with humor, and said, “Look, it’s been a long time, alright?”

She laughed, and when he held out his arm, she took it without hesitation.


End file.
